The Warriors Series Boxset II

by Ty Patterson

  ‘You don’t need to know. We are in this together just for one killing on one day. What happens before or after isn’t your problem.’

  ‘It is, if I am at risk.’

  The Ghul’s eyes turned cold. ‘Too late to think of that now. This was your idea.’

  He yielded a little when he saw the growing hostility in the man’s eyes.

  ‘All I can tell you is that what we are planning at Penn will give us enough cover to grab our victims.’

  The Flayer tried to read behind the man’s brown eyes. ‘Explosives?’

  ‘You’ll see.’

  The two stared at each other for a long time uneasily and then the Flayer gave a short nod.

  ‘Your men need to die. You need to disappear immediately after this goes down.’

  ‘They will. I will.’

  Meghan had left for the day by the time Zeb finished all his calls.

  None of the five men had entered any other country in their previous world tour. London was their first stop in the current one. No airport in the city had received them. No other airport in the United Kingdom had a record of their arriving.

  A cell gone to fight against us in the Middle East?

  He flicked open Masood’s folder.

  Where were you for the better part of the year, two years back? Where are you now?

  The twins had pulled up the men’s financial records, credit cards, bank statements. Nothing out of the ordinary. Payments to travel agents, hotels. Withdrawals of cash in keeping with a planned tour.

  No clue here.

  He went back to their social media profiles and idly read a few comments.

  Nine p.m. Pizaka and Chang would still be in office. He called them and brought them up to speed.

  ‘What do you want from us?’ Pizaka asked promptly when Zeb had finished.

  ‘Taps on their friends’ and families’ phones.’ He read out a few names, those who seemed to comment most frequently on their Facebook profiles.

  ‘We’ll get the commissioner to talk to his counterpart in Newark. FBI will need to be involved.’

  Zeb paused.

  Clare can get the wheels greased faster.

  He called her and grinned silently when she answered the phone promptly. No layers of bureaucracy for her.

  She listened silently. ‘You’ll start getting feeds from those agencies tomorrow.’

  Juice. Juice cuts through inter agency protocol.

  ‘How’s the Flayer investigation coming along?’

  Zeb briefed her.

  ‘Maybe you should visit Korulev.’

  He grinned again.

  Like minds.

  ‘Was planning to.’

  Boris Korulev was not a happy man.

  His business was going well, the club was booming, his girls were turning tricks and the money was flowing in.

  But he still wasn’t happy. He had failed to execute a contract for the first time ever and that gnawed at him. People came to him because he solved problems. If word got out that he couldn’t anymore, his business would melt away.

  It was all about credibility.

  One man. How difficult could that have been?

  He raged silently and then breathed deeply as the burning inside his belly spread up to his chest.

  On top of that I’ve got ulcers.

  He punched a button on his phone.

  ‘Svet,’ he growled at the woman on the other side of his door. Svetlana managed his diary, liaised with his various men, dealt with non-gang parts of his business.

  Gang bosses had secretaries too.

  ‘Da?’

  ‘When’s that doctor coming? My stomach’s killing me.’

  He slammed the phone down when she told him his physician would take another couple of hours. Evidently not everyone jumped at his command.

  He stared down at the night club though the thick, dark glass, at the masses of people who swirled on the floor and crowded the bar. He had returned part of the payment his customer had made, his gesture of goodwill. Luckily for him his customer hadn’t spread word about Korulev’s failure.

  He turned away, irritated, and forced his mind to focus on business.

  A new batch of girls was coming. They had to be inspected, and then he had to decide where to deploy them.

  A commotion outside caught his attention and he looked up at the door.

  The nightclub had one main entrance manned by bouncers, a service entrance for deliveries, and three exits that spilled into side streets. There was a fourth exit that was Korulev’s alone.

  All five exits were manned by security cameras and guards.

  The commotion grew louder.

  Nothing on the dance floor or at the bar.

  He scanned the camera feeds.

  Nothing there.

  He jabbed the button again and barked. ‘Svet, what’s going on?’

  His door crashed open before she could respond and bounced off the wall.

  A large black man entered the room and sucked air out of the room with his presence.

  Two other men appeared from behind him and flanked him. His eyes rested on one man.

  Carter.

  Svetlana fluttered behind them. He waved her away and she disappeared, shutting the door behind her. Korulev glowered at Carter who returned his gaze impassively.

  Footsteps pounded outside and the door crashed open again.

  His bouncers.

  ‘Boss, we tried stopping them, but they just went through.’

  Walked over you, you mean.

  His largest man was holding his right arm gingerly. It appeared to be broken. Another man had bleeding lips and a swollen face.

  He waved them away and watched Carter and his men drop into plush leather chairs.

  ‘What do they say about hired help, Boris?’ Carter’s voice was so soft, Korulev had to lean forward to hear him.

  He checked himself immediately and rage blossomed inside.

  He’s playing me.

  ‘Who are you? What do you want?’ He asked coldly.

  The black man rolled his eyes and looked at the other man.

  ‘Told you so. That line’s straight out of a B movie.’

  ‘You can’t fault him. They all see the same movies. Originality is lacking.’

  ‘Zeb Carter. I’m sure you know who I am.’ Carter introduced himself. He jerked his head at the two men. ‘Bwana. Roger. They took your men down.’

  Korulev opened his mouth and shut it again when a hand went up.

  ‘Save it. I’m not interested in your excuses and denials. We are not wired. We just want to talk. You can speak freely.’

  ‘You’ll forgive me if I don’t believe you.’

  Zeb shrugged. ‘Search us.’

  Korulev bellowed and the door crashed open again. He gestured at his men and they searched the three men thoroughly and nodded at him when they had finished. There wasn’t even a phone on them.

  ‘If you’re here to kill me, it’s a bad idea. You will not get out of here alive,’ Korulev growled when his goons left.

  The black man nodded appreciatively. ‘See, Rog, that’s better. The man gets right down to business. Saves us dancing the usual jig.’

  ‘Man’s a fast learner.’ The second man drawled. ‘No wonder he’s top of the heap. The go-to man.’

  Korulev’s face flushed in rage and his eyes grew small and narrow. He lasered his stare at Carter, who lounged in his chair. Like a tiger.

  A cold wind blew through Korulev and damped down the rage.

  ‘If I wanted to kill you, you wouldn’t be sitting here,’ Carter told him simply.

  Korulev believed him.

  ‘I want to know who paid you.’

  Korulev blew out a deep breath, but before he could answer, Carter interrupted him.

  ‘No is not an answer.’

  Rage burst again. He stamped it down brutally.

  ‘What do I get in return?’

  ‘You’ll live.’

 
; Korulev fidgeted, looked once at his night club, and made his decision.

  It wasn’t difficult.

  ‘I have met him just once, several years back, he wanted some help. He knew people who knew me. That’s how my business works.’

  ‘What kind of help?’

  ‘He wanted to know how to get rid of dead bodies, how to have false identities, that kind of shit.’

  Carter leaned forward and Korulev took that to mean a tell all gesture.

  Korulev told them.

  About his client being referred by another mob leader. Of meeting the man in a crowded café where no one could record them, the café manned by Korulev’s heavies. Of his wanting false documents.

  He also wanted to know how to get rid of dead bodies.

  ‘And you told him?’ Roger’s voice was incredulous.

  Korulev looked at him as if he was stupid. ‘Do I look like I run a bank or something like that? I run a gang. Of course I did.’

  ‘You dispose of any bodies for him?’ Zeb asked him and with that the tension in the room ratcheted.

  I mention one body and I am a dead man.

  ‘No. We don’t take up small jobs like that.’

  ‘One stop shop?’

  Korulev glared at Carter but didn’t reply.

  ‘When was the next time you spoke to him?’

  This time Korulev chose his words carefully. ‘When he wanted to ... commission a job on you.’

  Zeb dug into his jacket and extracted a photo.

  ‘Is that him?’

  Korulev looked at Matt Rouse and nodded.

  ‘Could be. Build seems to be the same. He was wearing shades and had a scarf around his face. Was wearing gloves.’

  ‘Who do you think he is?’ Roger asked him curiously.

  Korulev shrugged. ‘No idea. There are enough killers in the city. I don’t keep track.’

  He paused, remembering something. ‘I asked him once. He laughed and said he was a pretty popular guy and wanted to reduce his fan base.’

  ‘You meet people like this? Without knowing who they are?’

  Korulev smiled thinly. ‘They have to pay to meet me. A large sum. That way I know they are serious.’

  ‘What if it was a cop?’

  The smile grew wider. ‘I have legitimate businesses too. There are ways around that. I am not dumb.’

  They questioned him for another hour, threatened him, but Korulev didn’t have anything more to give.

  ‘How did he pay you?’

  ‘Cash.’

  He grinned unpleasantly.

  ‘He’s not like anyone you have faced, da? Which other killer has put a contract on you?’

  Zeb rose and wordlessly made for the door.

  Korulev watched his liquid flow and his eyes dropped to the drawer in his desk.

  I can plug him now. All of them. My men will make them disappear.

  When his eyes turned back, Carter’s Glock was aimed at him. Its barrel felt like a cannon, the eyes behind it were pinpoints of darkness.

  ‘You’ll die anyway. People like you don’t live long. Live as long as you can, for now.’

  The door shut behind him and Korulev exhaled. He wiped his palms against his jeans.

  That living longer option sounded real nice.

  Chapter 25

  January 29th –Feb 4th

  Cleary moved the investigation another few inches forward.

  ‘That carpet Christine Kohler was wrapped in isn’t a very common one. It’s no longer manufactured and very few are stocked by stores anymore. Online retailers don’t sell it.’

  He brought up Google maps and marked twenty stores in the city. Three of them were in the Bronx, the rest were scattered in the various boroughs.

  Cleary flushed when the sisters gave him thumbs up and scurried back away to his lab.

  ‘What do you think, Zeb?’ Chang asked when Zeb made no response to the finding.

  Zeb roused himself from his thinking. ‘You’ve got teams checking out those places?’

  ‘Yeah, along with a pictures of Matt Rouse. What’s on your mind?’

  ‘I am wondering how he would have transported that carpet. Buying it was unplanned otherwise he would have bought it online. That would have been the safer option.’

  Chang snapped his fingers. ‘Gotcha.’ He poked his head outside the room and shouted instructions to the task force. ‘Check out videos at subway stations nearest to those stores. Man carrying a carpet.’

  Zeb’s MI5 contact came back with an update.

  Trevor Johnson had been seen at a train station in London’s St. Pancras station. He was caught by the cameras as he was heading out of the station. Later that day he was seen in Heathrow.

  St. Pancras is where trains from continental Europe arrive at in London.

  ‘Any idea which train he came in on?

  ‘No, but there were a couple of trains from Belgium and Paris that came within an hour of his sighting. His other friends, those five blokes – no sign of them on these shores.’

  Zeb thanked him and hung up. He went to the world map in their office and traced the train routes. The European Union allowed free movement of people across its member states.

  Great for business. Bad for law enforcement agencies. It was relatively easy for criminals to flee from one member country to another and disappear into masses of humanity. Those same methods were followed by extremists in the member states to go join the terrorist organizations in the Middle East.

  Beth gave him another update.

  ‘Masood and those four men – it looks like they never left the country. No record of them actually flying out, or taking any train, cruise liner. On top of that, I called your contacts in Singapore and Malaysia. They never arrived there.’

  ‘They are here. Someone else is updating their profiles.’

  Beth balled up a sheet of paper and threw it at him to get his attention.

  He caught it easily. ‘I am listening. Check out the IP addresses of those updates. Call Clare. She’ll talk to the right people.’

  ‘None of the plastic surgeons abroad have responded.’ Another ball flew his way in frustration. ‘All of ours have, but these guys abroad seem to live in a different world. Why don’t you quit counting sheep or whatever it is that you do and light a fire under them?’

  ‘Yeah, do some real work, Zeb.’ Her twin urged.

  Werner had come back with bodies, cold cases, in the vicinity of the Rouses.

  One body, a woman in Florida, was found just a couple of blocks away from the hotel where the Rouses were vacationing. A few more bodies turned up not far from the Rouse residence in Chelsea. Not conclusive evidence at all. A defending attorney would tear the case to pieces.

  But neither could it be ruled out. Cleary was re-looking at the forensic evidence in those cases.

  Werner also said Matt Rouse hadn’t turned up at any international airport after his accident. But that didn’t mean anything. He could have traveled under a different legend.

  Zeb lifted his hands in surrender and worked the phone.

  His first call was to an intelligence contact in Switzerland. Switzerland was known for its secretive banks and chocolate. It was also where plastic surgeons operated on those who wanted a new look, who wanted to change their identities. He followed that call with other calls to Brazil, South Korea, Argentina, and Poland, all of them cosmetic surgery destinations.

  In some calls he threatened, with other contacts he cajoled.

  All promised to come back with details. Zeb knew they would.

  They all knew him.

  The sky darkened and clouds hung ominously low over the city. Warnings of snow storms peppered every radio and TV broadcast.

  Too many coincidences.

  He sat alone in the dark when the twins waved at him and left for the day. Bwana and Roger would be below, invisible but vigilant. They had the twins’ backs. He stirred finally, brewed himself a coffee and watched tendrils of steam float idly and
disappear when he blew on them.

  Just like all these leads we have.

  He brought up a video player on his laptop and ran Leon’s video through it. He willed his mind to go blank, an empty slate, letting thought to go its own way.

  He then ran the images outside the discount store. Diaz and the Flayer. He randomly selected a video, one of the Butcher’s, watched it silently. The next video he picked up was The Ghul’s. And then the Flayer’s slicing of Lena Diaz.

  He watched it fully without muting the volume and when it had finished, he pulled up the video from the HOF in which they announced attacks on the U.S.

  A masked spokesperson for the organization read out from a script, with other men brandishing guns beside him. The speaker ended with a chilling message.

  New York is next.

  Standard fare from the likes of the HOF, Al Qaeda, and other similar groups.

  He clicked on Teresa Stark’s killing and watched it to its gory end and when it had finished, he turned off his laptop, crossed his hands behind his head and leaned back.

  An hour passed, a light snowfall outside had turned heavier. Gusts of wind blew and through the thickened glass he could hear the powder attempting to make its way inside. The glass could withstand assault rifle attacks; the building could withstand a F5 tornado, one which had a wind speed of four hundred kilometers an hour.

  Safe.

  He cocked his head unconsciously. Something about that word triggered something else in his brain.

  Neurons stirred, dendrites flared, disparate connections were made in a way science had never fully understood, probably never would.

  Zeb’s feet came crashing down as he dragged the laptop toward him and fished out the Stark video. He pressed play.

  Fast forwarded.

  The Flayer’s mocking eyes and voice filled the room.

  ‘The mother of all killings.’

  ‘Live from the House of Flaying.’

  He feverishly dug through his laptop and brought up the note the killer had pinned to Kohler’s body.

  ‘You gotta admit it; the hair was a neat trick. Be warned, my next event will break the internet. I might sell tickets. Prime time viewing at the House of Flaying.’

  House of Flaying.

  Hand of Fire?

  Clare said someone sent a message to the HOF from the Bronx.